


Silence and Sound

by sunshineflying



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deaf Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn doesn't expect his assignment for art class, attendance at an art show, to lead to finding the love of his life. He also never thought he'd learn another language just to communicate with the fit blonde he met at the show. Somehow, the unexpected leads Zayn to the greatest moments of his life. (Or, a deaf!Niall AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence and Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lustspayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustspayne/gifts).



> Special thanks to Lane, my go-to for facts to make this as accurate as possible regarding deafness and deaf culture. I could not have posted this with any confidence whatsoever if it wasn't for you.
> 
> Also, a massive thank you to Mariah for being my last-minute beta. You really saved my ass, and I appreciate it so much!
> 
> And to my exchange recipient -- I hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> (Title is taken from One Direction's song You & I, but you all probably knew that.)

“C’mon, please? It’ll be fun,” Zayn begs.

His roommate Liam is awfully stubborn when he wants to be, and that particular day he really wants to be. As a student in the art program at his uni, he’s got to attend some art gallery openings. He’s been invited by some classmates anyway, because even though he hardly ever talks in class he’s got loads of art friends. Everyone wants to be friends with Zayn, and he just talks to them all.

The thing is, he doesn’t want to show up alone. But Liam doesn’t want to go at all.

“You know I don’t understand art,” Liam argues as he taps away at his keyboard.

He’s writing up a paper for something, but for what Zayn can’t remember. Liam’s studying criminology or something of the like, hoping to go into some sort of field where he saves lives or avenges them on a daily basis because that’s the way Liam is. He’s a hero. Zayn just makes pretty pictures and takes good photographs for the school paper.

“You don’t have to _get_ it, you just have to come along,” Zayn insists. “Please?”

Liam sighs and stops typing so he can face Zayn properly. Zayn’s sitting on his bed, sketchbook on his lap and charcoal on his hand as he’s drawing. He pauses, looking up at Liam, and he hopes for the best. “Last time I went, all your friends tried to ask me about the art and I didn’t know what to say. I don’t see that stuff like you do, and it’s weird for me,” Liam says gently. He doesn’t want to hurt Zayn’s feelings. “Besides, I have hours’ worth of revision to do by tomorrow. Who throws a gallery opening on a Thursday night?”

Zayn sighs and nods. He gets it, he supposes. He’s learned how to look at art, how to analyze it and really talk about it. When it comes to art, he and Liam are total opposites. “Alright, yeah,” Zayn nods, although he sounds incredibly dejected. “You revise, I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry. You know that, right?” Liam asks.

“I know, yeah,” Zayn nods. “I’ll be fine.”

Liam watches as Zayn goes back to his drawing and he wants to say something more, but he holds back. Zayn’s getting back into artistic mode – he’s not talkative or level-headed when he’s so focused on drawing, Liam’s learned.

They’ve lived together since the fall, and now that they’re well into their first year of uni in London, they’re quite close – best friends, even. But they don’t talk about the art show the rest of the afternoon. When it comes time for Zayn to leave, he pulls on a leather jacket over his black and gray striped shirt and messes with his hair in the mirror. He likes it this way, shaved with just the long bits up top. He pulls the hair tie out, letting the knot go free. The hair falls to one side of his head and it looks edgy, but not too intimidating. He considers styling it, but decides against it.

“Alright, I’m out then,” he says.

He grabs his keys and Liam shouts goodbye as Zayn walks out the door.

It’s a short walk to the gallery – the place isn’t far from campus, as it holds mostly student art – and Zayn prefers walking anyway. It means he can have a cigarette and wander with his thoughts. Too many people these days underestimate the serenity of a nice walk, he thinks. Not to mention walks are usually his source of inspiration.

He hears the studio party before he sees it, the clinking of glasses and chatter between the other attendees over the hum of some indie music. Zayn’s late, arriving later than the official opening time by a long shot. He doesn’t mind. Nobody does, really. He walks in and nods to his professor before making a beeline for the back of the room.

Zayn doesn’t mind this requirement for his courses – it’s pretty easy to look at a piece of art and write a paper about what speaks to him the most. A whole paper full of opinions is probably the easiest thing he’s ever done for his marks, and he enjoys it.

He wanders around looking at the different works of art, bored with most of them. So many of them are knockoffs of really brilliant art that he’s seen in the past – including far too many Andy Warhol-inspired pieces (pop art gets old fast) so it’s easy for him to narrow down his list of pieces to write about.

Zayn ends up standing in front of a piece of art – slightly abstract, full of color, and very serious. A multitude of reds, blacks, and grays litter the canvas and he starts making a list of everything he’s going to talk about. As he takes in the art, he falls into his zone. He’s immersed in the piece – it really does speak to him, with the colors and the serenity of the lone figure standing under a street lamp. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks when he feels a presence beside him.

There’s a blonde man, a bit taller than him with a more muscular build, who has just stepped up next to him to look at the same painting. He’s full of admiration for it as well, and Zayn thinks that maybe now it’s not so bad that he’s come to this gallery opening alone. “The use of color is really fantastic… I mean you can just _feel_ that person’s emotions, y’know? They’re alone. It’s dark. There’s literally nothing else around but that one lamp. It’s… haunting.”

He’s hoping for some sort of response from the man. Most people at art openings like these _love_ to talk, as he can hear by the excited chatter all around them.

Zayn feels like an idiot, chatting on and on about the piece of art in front of them when this lad next to him obviously has no interest in what he’s saying. He’s cute, like one of those American frat boys he sees in all the stereotypical advertisements. He’s wearing a plaid shirt with something plain underneath the half-buttoned flannel. He’s got a snapback on his bleach-blonde hair, the dark roots exposing the fact that his blonde is out of a bottle. He’s attractive in a boyish way, and Zayn’s not sure what that means because he’s got a type and that’s certainly not it.

He must look unsure of himself, because the blonde turns and looks at him strangely. The blonde’s eyebrow is cocked in a way that says he doesn’t understand, or maybe it’s his own innocent way of mocking. Either way, Zayn feels like a prize idiot and he looks away, flushed. He grabs some wine, something deep red in a stem-less glass being carried around on trays. After a big swig, he clears his throat and says, “I uh… I ought to be going then. Y’know… onto the next piece of art.”

The blonde doesn’t answer that, either… his attention was pulled back to the art. Zayn tries to ignore the sting when the lad doesn’t even say goodbye. He’s not sure what to make of their exchange. Usually if he pays someone attention, they give him the same in return. He knows it’s vain to say it’s because of his looks, but he knows it’s true. More often than not, his appearance is enough to get him at least a few minutes’ talking time with someone.

He shrugs off the thoughts and keeps looking at the art in the gallery. He manages to look at a few pieces of artwork down the corridor before a short, boisterous guy interrupts him. “Hi,” he says.

He’s got tight denim pants over his perfectly round bum along with a burgundy tee shirt that exposes his deep collarbones and a tattoo across his chest reading ‘it is what it is.’ “Er… hi?” Zayn replies.

This is pretty common, too. People are always walking up to him, asking for his mobile number or telling him he’s attractive before scuttling away to never summon the courage to talk to him again. It’s nothing new.

“I’m Louis, and you shouldn’t look so upset,” he says.

“Why’s that, _Louis_?” Zayn asks with emphasis on his name.

Louis is all sharp tongue and dry wit, and Zayn’s figured out easily that he’s got to be on his guard with this lad. Something behind Zayn has caught Louis’s attention, and he says, “He wasn’t ignoring you, he just didn’t know you were talking.”

Zayn is well confused now, but he turns to look over his shoulder to see the blonde guy from before. “I know I’m quiet but I’m not _that_ quiet,” he tells Louis.

“He can’t hear anything,” Louis says just as a tall, gangly guy walks up to the blonde and starts gesturing with his hands. “He’s deaf.”

“You know him?” Zayn asks with surprise as he turns his full attention back to Louis.

Their eyes meet and Louis nods. “I’m friends with him, yeah. That’s my boyfriend over there talking to him right now,” he explains. “He can read lips, but I’m guessing you two weren’t facing each other when you started talking to him. If the space were quieter he probably would have picked up on it because he’s wicked good about vibrations from sound and all that, but in this place? You didn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh.”

Zayn’s never met anyone deaf before, but he’s always had it in his head that they’d look different – hearing aids or a listening dog or something. He looks over his shoulder again to see Niall animatedly signing to the taller guy – Louis’s boyfriend – and he obviously looks enthusiastic about whatever it is that he’s saying.

“His name is Niall, and you could go over there and talk to him if you wanted,” Louis says, interrupting Zayn’s train of thought. “You’ll get bonus points if you grab him a pint on the way. He loves beer.”

“He won’t hear me. I dunno what to say,” Zayn says lamely.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Weren’t you listening? I said he can read lips!”

Before he knows it, Zayn’s being led around by Louis, to Niall and the tall lad by way of the bar. Zayn feels awkward and as though everyone was watching him even though they weren’t. Nobody even saw him.

“Harry, Niall, I want you to meet…” Louis begins, but pauses. He looks at Zayn in confusion and finishes, “I never got your name, did I?”

“Zayn. My name is Zayn,” he says awkwardly.

“Right. Zayn. This is my boyfriend Harry, and our friend Niall,” Louis says, keeping his face angled towards Niall just enough so Niall can catch what he says.

Niall’s face brightens and he waves at Zayn. He gestures a few times but Zayn doesn’t catch any of it. “He says he’s sorry about earlier,” Harry explains, translating the sign language for him. “He didn’t know you were talking.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Zayn says shyly as he looks down at his wine.

Niall looks confused again, and Louis tuts in a motherly way as he reaches out to tilt Zayn’s head up. “If you want him to read your lips he has to be able to _see_ your lips,” he admonishes.

Zayn looks timid and embarrassed, and he looks right at Niall as he says, “Sorry. I’m… yeah.”

Niall’s smile is warm and Zayn notices how perfectly aligned his teeth are. For a moment he wonders if instead of just looking a stereotype, he actually _is_ from America. His name suggests Ireland, but without an accent Zayn really can’t place him.

Never before has Zayn been attracted to someone like Niall but this is making his heart race, even with another couple right there to watch all of his shortcomings in this department. Zayn finds himself wishing like hell that he could think of more to say, but words are hard when he’s shy or nervous. In this case he’s both and has no idea if it’s obvious or not that he thinks Niall is incredibly fit.

Quickly Niall’s hands start to sign again, and Zayn finds himself watching his hands. They look smooth and he’s got long fingers… he probably gives good back massages. Zayn licks his lips and he doesn’t notice for a moment that he’s being laughed at.

“Huh?”

Louis is doubled over in laughter and Niall’s watching with a fondness in his eye, something sweet but mixed with just a little confusion. Harry’s the only one keeping his cool enough to really fill Zayn in on the secret, and he says, “Once you’ve finished staring, he’s wondering if he could have your number. So you guys could text.”

Zayn feels his face grow hot but he nods. Niall’s smile grows but there’s still a look of something on his face that Zayn’s having trouble placing. He hopes it’s mutual attraction, but it’s hard to know. Zayn’s not used to this sort of situation where flirting and chatting comes easily. Most of all, he’s not used to having a language barrier between himself and the person to whom he’s speaking.

Niall pulls out his iPhone and opens up the ‘new contact’ page before handing it over to Zayn. While trying to block out Louis’s laughter and mocking, Zayn types in his name and number before giving the phone back to Niall. Their fingers brush and Zayn does much better this time at hiding the blush and the shiver down his spine.

After a few moments he feels his phone vibrate and Niall smiles as he watches Zayn pull his phone from his pocket.

_it’s niall ! thanks 4 ur number xx_

Zayn’s blushing and Louis says “ _ooooh!_ ” in a tone that makes Zayn want to punch him. Thankfully, Niall reaches over to smack Louis in the back of the head. Zayn mouths thank you to him as Louis sputters and tones down the mockery. Niall nods and smiles, and that’s enough to make Zayn’s pulse race again. “Anyway, we should keep looking around,” Harry says kindly, his voice humming low and melodic over the buzz of the crowds in the art gallery. “I’ve got a few more friends to catch up with.”

“Yeah, and now that you’ve gone and put a pint in Niall’s hand, as soon as he’s done he’s going to want to be at a pub,” Louis says to Zayn, pretending to be annoyed.

That earns him another smack on the back of the head from Niall, and as Zayn catches the blonde’s eye, he smiles. Niall’s grinning back, and with a nod he walks away with his friends.

Zayn doesn’t stay at the gallery long after that; he’s already got what he needs for his paper and besides, his phone battery is getting low and Niall is awfully speedy at text messaging. Zayn nearly misses his turn on his way back to his dormitory, he’s so enthralled with his text conversation.

The look on his face must be something unfamiliar because as soon as he’s back in his room, Liam’s jumping at him, asking what happened. Zayn can’t fight his bashful smile and the way his cheeks turn hot again, just at the thought.

He explains what happened at the gallery, though he leaves out the part where Niall started flirting with him in text messages. Niall’s been telling him things like which of his tattoos he likes most and how he likes the way Zayn’s hair falls in front of one of his eyes, but that feels too private to share. Niall likes all the stuff about Zayn that no one else seems to notice. He likes the little tattoos hidden between the big ones that are usually commented on, and he likes something about Zayn other than his jaw and cheekbones.

Niall says he wishes Zayn was out having drinks with them, but Zayn’s a bit too embarrassed to show himself in front of Niall again. He doesn’t understand sign language like Harry and Louis seem to, so how on earth is he supposed to talk to him? Zayn voices his distress, to which Liam just shrugs.

“It’s easy. Learn sign language.”

Zayn sputters. The answer is so simple it seems ridiculous. Zayn can’t just go learn a new language like that… not when there’s probably high risk that he’ll mess up and say the absolute wrong thing. Granted, Niall’s laughter is musical and brightens Zayn’s mood and his smile is perfect and makes his heart beat a little faster, but those are just the best case scenario responses he could get from Niall. Zayn’s worried he might accidentally be offensive instead.

And Zayn _really_ doesn’t want to humiliate himself again.

If there’s one thing Zayn’s not fond of, it’s embarrassing himself in front of others, especially people that he finds himself resisting the urge to kiss.

That doesn’t stop Liam from persisting on the topic, though, and before he knows it Zayn’s walking up to a big looming building in downtown London on a Friday afternoon. Liam’s by his side, insisting he’ll attend classes with him to give him someone to practice with, but it all feels a bit awkward. He briefly wonders if he’s trying too hard.

They’re in a huge classroom with about a dozen people and one incredibly enthusiastic woman teaching the course. She’s started out explaining the culture, and while Zayn wouldn’t otherwise have put his full attention into it, he does for this. Everything she’s talking about pertains to Niall somehow, from how they attend university to how they function in everyday life.

Zayn’s not sure he could ever be in Niall’s shoes, living life without hearing. Music is his world. When he’s not making art he’s playing something on the piano. He’s self-taught and not an expert by any stretch of the definition, but it suits his purposes and he can mix songs and sounds pretty well on his Macbook. But then he realizes that Niall can’t do any of that because he can’t hear it, and that leaves a pressure in his chest, an ache for Niall, because music fills such a big void in Zayn’s life.

He agrees to Niall’s invitation to coffee even though he doesn’t know much sign language yet. If all else fails he can text with him or something, even if that might seem a bit pathetic.

Zayn’s never been so nervous in his life.

He trudges through the small piles of snow, leftovers from a random snowfall that hit London just a week prior. It’s February now, but Zayn doesn’t mind the chill. He likes the way the cigarette warms him between his fingers as his boots thud down the sidewalk. The café isn’t far and apparently Niall lives around there but doesn’t go to uni, even though the café is right on campus.

He stamps his cigarette out, picks up the butt to throw away, and then takes a deep breath before he enters.

When he walks through the door he taps his feet on the rug to get rid of the slush and then glances around. It’s warm and he can hear a barista steaming milk while another makes change in the cash drawer. Upon closer look, Zayn realizes it’s Harry taking orders at the counter. Niall’s in line and they’re chatting as the last customer steps aside to wait for their drink.

Harry isn’t bothering to sign now; Niall’s watching his lips intently and Zayn’s not sure how he’s going to handle that sort of attention on his mouth without totally making it obvious how much he cares about him already. It’s a physical sort of attraction, nothing deeper yet, but he’s got hope that it’ll all turn out okay because this is Niall and he’s sweet and funny even if Zayn’s never heard a word leave his lips.

Harry spots Zayn and waves to him, drawing Niall’s attention to him. Zayn flushes and smiles as he waves. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but he slowly signs out a greeting to Niall, asking him how he is. The way Niall smiles and Harry tries not to let out some sort of girlish excited noise says that Zayn got it right. Niall looks so absolutely excited that Zayn can’t help but smile too.

Niall gestures to the counter and Harry says, “Drinks are on Niall, and I’m not supposed to let you say otherwise. What’ll it be?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow and looks at Niall, who is pointedly looking away. That makes Zayn laugh; he hadn’t realized until then how easy it is for Niall to get his way. If he doesn’t see Zayn’s lips or hands, he doesn’t see the argument and therefore he wins.

It’s incredibly cute.

Giving in, Zayn says, “I’ll have a cappuccino,”

Niall’s apparently already ordered his, Zayn realizes as Niall takes a sip out of a plain white cup. As Niall pays, Zayn waits, and he finds himself wondering what would be unleashed on the world if Niall could let his humor out with words. He’s obviously a really funny guy, and Zayn likes that about him. Though really, so far Zayn likes everything about him.

When his drink is done they go to the back of the café to a small table in the corner. Niall’s watching Zayn with interest, and Zayn is blushing under the intense gaze and attention he gets from the blonde.

Niall sets down his coffee and does a few sign language gestures. He’s moving slower with his hands for Zayn than he does for Harry, but that makes it much easier. Zayn picks up on what he’s said: “You like art?”

Zayn smiles and nods. “Yeah, I study drawing,” he explains. “I go to uni right here. I live with my best friend Liam.”

Niall nods and signs: “Liam study what?”

It all seems like such broken English, sign after sign coming from Niall’s hands, but it’s how sign language works. Zayn learned that on day one. Not every word has a sign but that’s okay… conversation would take much longer if it did.

“He wants to be some sort of hero. Police man or fire man. I dunno exactly what his field of study is,” Zayn laughs.

Even with a basic understanding of sign language – only a few weeks of night classes for Zayn – he doesn’t have too many problems understanding Niall. Every so often there’s a sign he doesn’t know, so Niall spells it out with his fingers so Zayn can learn.

Zayn is surprised at how easily it all comes to him, conversing with Niall. The lip reading definitely helps, but so do the lessons.

When Niall asks Zayn what else he likes, he says music without thinking.

Niall whole face lights up and he looks quite enthusiastic. He nods and signs: “Me too.”

Zayn is confused. “You’ve heard music? How?” he asks without thinking.

He doesn’t realize that blurting out the question could be seen as rude or intrusive. Zayn genuinely wants to know if Niall has ever heard music before, and if he has, how that was even possible. He’s so filled with curiosity he hopes Niall won’t get angry at him for asking.

Niall takes a deep breath and pulls out his cell phone. Zayn watches as he types, hoping that Niall is typing to him and not blowing him off because of the question.

After at least a minute, his phone buzzes. Zayn pulls it out to see a lengthy text message waiting on the screen from Niall. Letting out a breath of relief, he opens the message and reads,

 _when I was born I was hard of hearing. I remember music from my mum and dad singing to me at night. I didn’t go deaf until I was nine. I still remember the vibrations from their singing and it made me want to keep music in my life after I lost my hearing. I can play guitar and I know the notes from where I feel the vibrations in my body so technically I can still enjoy music. I just don’t do it the way you do_.

Zayn looks up at Niall in awe. He had no idea any of that was possible, but the nervous look on Niall’s face makes Zayn worry. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Niall shakes his head and types another message.

_I’ve never told anyone that. not even harry and louis know I play guitar. kids back in Ireland used to think it was funny, and not in a cool way._

Zayn hadn’t considered what growing up like this and making friends must have been like for Niall. To have one of your friends go deaf had to be confusing, especially at age nine. He sees the conflict and pain on Niall’s face, the way memories of kids making fun of him for playing music even after going deaf must be hurting him… Zayn doesn’t know what to say.

Slowly he reaches across the table and takes hold of Niall’s hand. Niall looks down at where their hands meet, pointedly avoiding Zayn’s face so he can be left to his thoughts. Zayn doesn’t pressure him for conversation, he just lets it all settle for a moment.

Their coffee date ends not long after that, but thankfully when Zayn says goodbye, Niall is smiling again. Zayn gives him a big hug, not just because of their conversation about music and the sympathy he feels, but because he wants to touch Niall, to hold him. Niall gives him the biggest, warmest hug imaginable in return, and all the tension from earlier shatters and leaves them with nothing but good vibes. Zayn likes the way Niall smells, like expensive cologne but a lot like _boy_ too, just a bit musky and warm. Niall likes knowing Zayn cares about him, and that he’s not going anywhere.

As the hug breaks, Niall presses a gentle kiss to Zayn’s temple, something sweet and private. Zayn’s blushing when their eyes meet and he asks, “See you soon?”

Niall nods and waves before Zayn turns and walks down the street. They’ve already arranged another time to hang out in just a few days but Niall thinks that’s too far away. He wishes he could be around Zayn all the time. It’s fascinating to him, how compassionate Zayn is and how there’s so much more beauty and interest behind his gorgeous face.

When Zayn’s out the door and down the street, Harry is magically on his break (Niall knows he planned that), and he and Louis both hound Niall for information. It’s Niall’s turn to blush now, and he signs it all to them in excitement. It isn’t until Louis brings up a sensitive subject that Niall’s smile fades.

“How’s your speech coming?”

After first meeting Zayn and not really being able to communicate with him, Niall had given in and done what his mum had been begging of him for ages: he started speech lessons again.

Once upon a time, before his hearing had disappeared completely, he’d been able to speak. His Irish accent was thick and he was always telling jokes. But being nine years old, mocked for suddenly going deaf, he stopped speaking. He focused on learning to read lips, and if people didn’t know sign language they didn’t get to speak to him.

It was a self-preservation sort of thing, something he did to distance people before they could ever get in and hurt him, and for a while it worked. But when he met Zayn he’d realized that maybe the distancing wasn’t such a good idea anymore. He didn’t want to have a barrier between himself and strangers; he wanted to be able to get to know them.

Niall wanted to feel normal.

So, just as Zayn had enrolled in sign language courses, Niall went back to speech therapy. It was difficult, getting back into it, because he didn’t know if the sounds he thought he was saying were the sounds others were hearing.

“I think it’s okay,” he says slowly to Louis.

But Niall’s self-conscious about how he sounds. He’s not sure if he’s got some sort of speech impediment he can’t hear or if he sounds like a toddler. He’s afraid of all of it, even if it turns out to be untrue. Most of all, he’s afraid that he’ll make a fool of himself in front of Zayn if he tries it.

Louis and Harry smile at him and that reassures him a little. “Why didn’t you speak with him today? He was signing with you,” Harry wonders.

Niall shrugs. He’s not always open about his thoughts. Sometimes he takes advantage of the seclusion his deafness provides him. Louis doesn’t often allow it. “You should try next time. You sound absolutely fine, I promise,” Louis says firmly. Niall knows that even though Louis said it as an option, it’s not an option. He has to try or Louis will have his head.

But he thinks he needs to perfect his speech a bit more before he can actually talk to Zayn. Plus, he doesn’t want Zayn to feel like he learned sign language for nothing. Niall finds it incredibly sweet that he went to such lengths to talk to him – he doesn’t want Zayn to think it was a waste or that he’s not appreciative.

Harry and Louis decide not to push the situation but they’ve started waiting for Niall to speak with them instead of acknowledging what he signs; they want to encourage him and give him lots of practice.

After their coffee date, Zayn tells Liam about Niall all the time – in fact he’s almost the only thing Zayn ever wants to talk about anymore. Liam senses Zayn’s excitement and asks, “When do you get to see him next?”

“Soon,” Zayn relies cryptically.

“How soon?” Liam asks, pressing for more information.

Zayn smiles shyly and admits, “We’re going to dinner tonight.”

“ _Tonight_? Like, the night before Valentine’s Day?” Liam is incredulous.

Zayn nods. They’d talked about going out on Valentine’s Day, but Niall said it was incredibly cliché. Zayn agreed, so they’d made plans for the evening before. “We have our reasons,” Zayn says simply.

Liam doesn’t press it anymore. He’s glad that Zayn’s found someone who makes him so happy. He’s been eager to meet Niall for days but he knows Zayn needs more time before he shares something this big with him. It’s been a long time since Liam has seen Zayn so serious about someone, so he knows this is important.

Zayn’s incredibly nervous when he drops by Niall’s flat that Friday night. He’s fumbling with the zipper on his jacket – something sleek and black but not intimidating and leather like he usually wears. It’s more of a sport coat, and he’s got it on over a plain red Henley shirt. He’s got his hair combed back and tied in a simple knot, and he’s wearing tight black jeans. He’s opted for black boots – not his usual combat boot type but something a little less gaudy. They’re plain boots; Liam calls them dressy, but Zayn is really trying not to overthink anything.

He rings the doorbell, which is hooked up to some lights in Niall’s flat so he knows when someone’s at the door since he can’t hear the doorbell. Zayn doesn’t know it but Niall’s nervous as well, combing his fingers through his blonde hair as he waits.

The lights draw him out of his thoughts, and he stands back to look himself over in the mirror one last time. He’s wearing plaid again, but it’s red and actually buttoned instead of just an added layer over some plain shirt. He’s got the top buttons open, just enough to look casual, and he’s rolled up the sleeves. The plaid shirt is tucked into some light wash jeans, just tight enough to show off the arse he’s got that he’s rather proud of, and then he slips his feet into some black Converse hi-tops. He pulls on a denim jacket while he wanders towards the door, hoping he looks alright.

Zayn’s starting to wonder if Niall’s doorbell lights are working when finally the door swings open. Niall’s got pink, flushed cheeks, and he’s smiling warmly as Zayn pauses. Niall looks amazing, and he can’t look away. “Hi,” he says, hands flat at his sides so he stops fidgeting.

“Hi,” Niall replies with a big grin.

He looks anxious though, in his eyes. Zayn sees it even through the near darkness on the front step of Niall’s flat. It takes him a minute, but he realizes that Niall hasn’t spoken to him before. Niall’s finished locking his door and is about to step out onto the sidewalk to get where they’re going, but Zayn’s rooted to the spot. He reaches out for Niall’s arm and stops him, spinning him so they’re facing each other on the front step.

“You can speak?” he asks, bewildered.

It’s ineloquent and quite frankly Zayn feels like a total idiot for phrasing it so stupidly, but he’s not sure what else to say. Niall doesn’t speak – he hasn’t when Zayn’s been around, at least – and it’s quite surprising.

“I can,” Niall explains. “I used to. I learned again.”

His sentences are simple and it’s clear he’s just re-learned how to piece together grammatically correct phrases, but Zayn’s still overwhelmed by the gesture. “You learned again?” Zayn repeats, unsure if he’s hearing this correctly. “Like…” he begins, wondering if he should ask what’s on his mind.

Niall looks serious and he’s obviously nervous because he’s picking at a hangnail as he looks down and says, “For you.”

Zayn pauses. He’d wanted to believe it was for him, but he didn’t want to be presumptuous. But here it is – the truth – and it’s exactly what Zayn had been hoping to hear. Zayn dips his head, ducking to try to catch Niall’s gaze as Niall is looking down. It works. Their eyes lock and Zayn’s smiling, and he signs: “thank you” in return.

Niall looks happy, but there’s still something missing. His whole smile isn’t there like it used to be. “What’s wrong?” Zayn asks.

With a shake of his head, Niall smiles sadly. He’s having trouble finding his words – the whole moment feels so imperative, so absolutely monumental for the two of them, that neither of them says a thing as the weight of what they’ve started settles over them.

There’s a connection between them, something Niall obviously hasn’t had with many people in his lifetime. Harry and Louis are probably diamonds in the rough, if Zayn has to guess. They’re the rare sorts of people who learn different languages out of curiosity or intrigue, not specifically for a person. Naturally, Niall gravitated towards them; they spoke his language.

But someone going out of their way and adding to their crazy uni coursework just so they could communicate with him? Niall’s never had that happen before and Zayn pieces that together as he watches Niall’s expression. “I really like you,” Zayn says simply, like it explains every effort, every emotion.

Somehow, that works. It’s a balm, something to make his worry or his overwhelming sense of surprise settle into a gentle calm. Niall learned to speak again so he could talk to Zayn, and Zayn learned sign language so he could talk to Niall. Something so simple feels like so much more, and neither really have the words to express how thankful they are for the other’s efforts.

The beauty of it is that they don’t _need_ words. Both grew up in worlds where they didn’t speak much. Niall because of self-preservation, and Zayn because he’s always thrived just a little bit more than anyone else in a world filled with silence, coated with words from books and art from the pages.

They’re smiling at each other, and Zayn feels like he’s never been as content as he is in that moment. He’s looking up at Niall, watching the joy and happiness drift back into his beautiful blue eyes. “Do you want to go inside?” Niall asks.

His speech is slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t stumble over his words, but all Zayn focuses on is how he sounds. Niall’s voice is gentle and calm, more perfect than he’d imagined. Even with English speech coaches, Niall’s retained traces of the Irish accent that Zayn had just _known_ would be there. He’s perfect, Zayn decides, though he’s always sort of known that.

To answer Niall’s question, Zayn just nods. They don’t need a fancy dinner out and they certainly don’t need to spend money on each other to show that this is the start of something new and amazing. They can both feel it before either of them actually says it. This is good – this is their little start of forever.

Before either of them moves to go inside, Niall reaches out and rests his hand on Zayn’s cheek. Zayn leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Niall takes in the sight of Zayn like this, red lips parted just barely, begging to be kissed. His long, dark eyelashes contrast against his fair cheeks, and he looks so small.

It should be shocking, the way he’s become such a big part of Niall’s life already. It’s an easy decision for Niall to make. He’s got to kiss Zayn. He _wants_ to kiss Zayn. So he does.

Zayn’s ready for it when it happens; he’s expecting it, but he’s still caught off guard when their lips meet and his breath hitches in his throat. They fit together so perfectly, he can feel it already.

Niall’s lips are soft and gentle, a bit hesitant which seems surprising given how funny and upfront Niall can be. Zayn likes this tender side. Zayn’s got his hands knotted in the front of Niall’s shirt and Niall’s still cupping Zayn’s cheek as his other hand slides around his waist.

They’re holding each other, kissing passionately, embracing each other, and it’s like nothing else in the world exists except for the two of them. Nobody else has ever made Zayn’s mind go blank like this. He’s addicted already, knows he needs Niall’s lips on his as often as possible. Niall doesn’t want to let go, but the night is cold and he’s running out of air in his lungs.

When he pulls out of the kiss, they’re both flushed pink in the cheeks and their breath can be seen in the chilly February air. “My room?” Niall asks.

Zayn beams. He loves hearing Niall’s voice. There’s something about it that’s so unique, unlike anything Zayn’s heard before, and it vibrates deep in his chest before their bodies separate. As they walk inside, Zayn wonders if that’s what Niall meant, about being able to feel music.

He wants to ask, but they’re kissing again as soon as the door closes.

Zayn realizes he’s never been in Niall’s flat before. He’s only known him for a couple weeks and he feels like it’s moved far too fast but at the same time it hasn’t. They’ve just shared their first kiss, and they’re working on learning each other’s languages. That’s not too fast at all.

But it’s the comforting feeling Zayn has in his chest, the way Niall feels like home no matter where they are, that tells him this is okay. It’s the way Niall looks at him so adoringly as he peels away Zayn’s jacket and they stumble as they kick off their shoes.

It’s the way their hands lazily tangle together before Niall leads Zayn down the hallway and into his bedroom.

Everything about Niall’s flat is so profoundly ordinary that it’s hard for Zayn to comprehend that this is where Niall lives. He’s deaf, he’s a musician, and he’s hilarious. How can someone so extraordinary live somewhere so nondescript? But he gets it, at least a little. Just because he’s deaf doesn’t mean he’s some foreign creature. And maybe the first time they met, Zayn thought he was. He was wrong, but he knows that. He didn’t let it hold him back.

Niall is sweet and gentle, and as they tumble onto Niall’s bed they start to kiss and Zayn’s settling in again. He’s falling way too hard and far too fast but this is _Niall_. He’s safe and kind and he cares for Zayn in a way that nobody else ever has. With others, it’s cheekbones this or tattoos that, but Niall was always interested in the man underneath.

Zayn’s not sure why he was ever nervous around Niall. As he lays underneath him, fingers in his hair and cheeks grazed by Niall’s deft fingers, he realizes that Niall’s not scary. He’s perfect.

The two of them together feels perfect.

They kiss for hours, lips red and puffy and swollen, but it’s all they need, really. It feels nice. They’re not frantic because they know this isn’t the last time they’ll be together. They’re not going to rush into anything because with something so lasting, why complicate it like that? There’s a security in the way they touch and kiss. It’s a confidence that they’ll last, paired with the smiles and laughs that go with a first date.

When their lips are sore and they don’t think they can kiss anymore, they’re down to tee shirts and boxers and they’re comfortably settled under Niall’s blankets. Zayn wants to roll towards Niall, to lay his head on his chest, but Niall’s moving towards him and does that instead. Zayn drops an arm around Niall’s shoulders and smiles.

He’s never quite cuddled with a man like this, being the proverbial “bigger spoon” in the situation, but it’s nice. Niall’s warm and comforting, and there’s a peace that settles over them.

In the darkness, Zayn barely hears it, but Niall asks, “Sing for me?”

Zayn’s never been one to sing to more than the steering wheel or the shower head, and only his family has heard him, but this is Niall. Part of Zayn knows that Niall will never actually _hear_ him, but he can feel him. He briefly wonders if he would be able to feel bad notes, wrong sounds… Zayn’s not all that sure he can sing as well as Niall deserves to hear.

He’s going to try, anyway.

Slowly, Zayn begins to sing something slow and soulful, a ballad he’d heard on the radio by this guy named Ed Sheeran. He’d thought it was a beautiful song right from the start, and it’s what he was most confident singing.

Niall shifts a little, settling himself just right so his head and hand are at the center of Zayn’s chest. Gently, Zayn pets Niall’s hair as he sings, getting lost in the notes and lyrics until the end of the song sneaks up on him and he’s a bit surprised at how confidently he let himself go and let the music flow.

The room feels more silent than usual when he’s finished, and it takes him a minute to realize that Niall doesn’t seem okay. He’s sniffled. _He’s crying_.

“Niall?” Zayn asks, worried.

He rolls out from underneath Niall so he can face him properly, to figure out what he’s done wrong. Niall’s trying to hide his face and he looks embarrassed, but Zayn just wants to know whether he’s fucked things up.

Gently, Zayn holds Niall’s cheek and guides his eyes upwards. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

There’s fear and worry in Zayn’s eyes and Niall’s heart aches in his chest from it, and all he says is, “That was beautiful.”

Zayn smiles a little, feeling hopeful, but he doesn’t know quite what to make of this all yet. Niall wipes at his cheeks and says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Zayn insists. He’s still looking into Niall’s beautiful blue eyes, wet with emotion that Zayn has yet to understand. “I just want to know why you’re crying.”

“It was beautiful,” Niall repeats. He smiles, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes sending a few more tears spilling over his cheeks. “I haven’t had somebody sing for me in a long time.”

He missed it, Zayn realizes.

Niall’s had his guitar but he’s missed singing. He’s missed a voice making beautiful music just for him. Zayn’s chest tightens and he realizes in that moment that he’d do anything for Niall. He’d sing every day even when he’s sick, he’ll learn another language and use it all the time, hell, he’ll even bring back the moon for him if it’s what Niall wants.

He brings their lips together in a gentle kiss, too overcome with the weight of his realization to string together words. He loves that Niall doesn’t mind Zayn’s moments of speechlessness. Others have doubted his intellect but Niall understands.

Niall’s the man Zayn’s never known he’s always needed.

Zayn breaks the kiss to look into Niall’s eyes, being sure he has his full attention before he signs: “I always sing for you.”

And he would, too, and he wants Niall to know that.

Niall’s face lights up and he smiles, the wetness in his eyes now a faint trace of what had happened before. Now his eyes are sparkling through those tears, and Zayn’s heart beats a little faster. They snuggle up again, Zayn curled into Niall’s broad chest, and just before they’re drifting off to sleep Niall says happily, “Best. Boyfriend. Ever.”

And they’ve not actually talked about it yet, not really, but they’ve sort of gone and made it official without really realizing. The making out, the languages, the cuddling, the companionship… it all adds up to a relationship. Without words they’d realized it and shown it, and Zayn’s never thought he’d be lucky enough to find a relationship where he’s accepted for being as quiet as he is, that it works as a part of the relationship instead of hurting things.

He feels indescribably lucky as he smiles and curls a bit closer to Niall. He presses a soft kiss to Niall’s collarbone, the only place on him that he can reach without moving too far, and Niall responds by kissing Zayn atop his head.

As Zayn’s drifting off to sleep, the realization hits him that he might have just found the love of his life. A calm settles in his chest because it’s a big deal, but at the same time it’s not. He wants to celebrate, but he can celebrate for the rest of his life, as long as he’s got Niall. Smiling contentedly, he falls asleep to the thoughts of forever with Niall – a forever Niall will be more than happy to give him.


End file.
